Human Voices
by rhyejess
Summary: Jack's gone, but his spirit drives the people who loved him together despite themselves.
1. Chapter 1

I grow old - I grow old -  
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?  
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.  
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves  
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back  
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea  
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown  
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot

* * *

Lureen sagged down onto the bed. It'd been the roughest three months of her life. It couldn't get worse. She'd had to ID the body, and that was a memory she could not get out of her mind. Jack's crushed-in face haunted her every night's dreams. She felt nauseous from the image. Then there had been the funeral arrangements and funeral, counseling for Bobby, fending off unwelcome remarks from neighborhood bigots, trying to ignore the newspapers and the rumors, and finally trying not to kill this Randall Malone with her two bare hands. She could hardly believe how angry she was at Malone. Maybe this was all his fault: her sleepless nights, and her tearful son, and her slandered name, all because of some ranch foreman across town. She really did want to kill him. Jack and Randall were both married, what right did they have? Then again, she'd long suspected Jack was having an affair, she'd just assumed it was with that dumb, talkative little woman-- what was her name? LaShawn. Well, Randall was still alive, he and LaShawn were getting a divorce, and she was left with an utter mess of a life. Not fair. Not fair at all. Lureen could barely restrain the tears. But she did. She was not a crier, and she could not afford emotions. Didn't have the faintest idea of how to deal with them.

Her thoughts were everywhere at once. Tonight she was going to clean out his things. She'd promised herself. She'd been putting it off for too, too long. Jack might not have been her best lover or the ideal husband, but he certainly was one of her best friends, and his death had been hard on her, his manner of passing more so. She didn't really love Jack Twist but she felt sure he deserved something better. She rose, armed with trash bags and boxes. She had to get this task done and over with.

They shared a bedroom, but not a bed. They also had separate dressers, separate closets, separate sinks in the bathroom, separate bars of soap, everything separate. They shared a teenaged boy. Had shared. No more.

The closet was simple enough. Dress shirts, dress slacks, work suits and church suits, jackets. Nothing special. Jack wasn't too sentimental, she reflected. Maybe he didn't have much to be sentimental about.

She knew he had something though. She'd known about it all along. In hindsight, she'd known about a lot of things all along that she hadn't let herself know at the time. She hadn't known about Randall; that'd been a surprise. But she knew about Jack. She'd never thought so, told herself she was being silly, until that phone call. "We was good friends," she heard his voice in her ears. She didn't feel too guilty for lying to him; these nightmares she had about Jack, there wasn't any need for him to have those nightmares too. Although she also had a sense that he would have been stronger, been able to remember Jack's face like it used to be. She also had a sense that he'd heard between her words. Something about that man's voice told her he'd seen tire irons before, and put to good use, too. Only a powerful force like that would have kept Jack in Texas all these years. Ennis must really be a man among men; he turned away Jackrabbit Twist and his blazing blue eyes and even brighter smile at the end of every 'fishing' trip. Couldn't get much tougher.

Laughing at her own stupidity, Lureen moved to the dresser drawer, third down, back behind the socks, where she'd known all along Jack kept an old box of postcards. The collection was incomplete. She'd had to send the last one back. Why had she spent so many years thinking it was normal for men to keep each other's post cards?

"Man's gotta have friends, don't he," she spoke aloud to herself. "Man could get pretty attached to an old friend, I bet. Thought they mighta' met as kids or something. Thought maybe they known each other a long time, real good friends. Guess that part was right, anyway." She opened the box. The cards were all simple: "You bet," "March 3," "See you then," "Can't wait," "Sounds good." Yup, she had him pegged, this Ennis. Tough bird, no doubt, to write two-word answers and keep turning Jack back down that highway year after year after year. Her respect for Jack rose a notch. He was some hanger-on if he needed to be. She began to feel a strange desire to meet Ennis. If Jack were willing to work so hard for this man, what was he like?

Odd, that she wanted to kill Malone so badly, but had an itching desire to see Ennis with her own two eyes, to welcome him into her home. Ennis was something different. Jack had first spoken about him after their wedding. She forgot his exact words, something like, "Now I gone and got married! How 'bout that! My friend Ennis, up in Wyoming, he got married couple years ago. Didn't think I ever would, though." The memories came flooding back, about how Jack would mention Ennis from time to time at the beginning of their marriage. A few years later he'd stopped though. Sometimes he would laugh and start-- "You know who would love that?"-- then refuse to answer her when she asked who he meant. Probably meant Ennis, she knew now. She'd heard him speak about his 'Wyoming friend' a couple times to Bobby, too. She'd been real deaf, then, self-imposed. Jack never could keep his mouth shut proper. Luckily, she'd never been terribly good at listening.

Well, now she had Ennis's address, anyway. She'd had it all along, and especially had it when she'd sent that post card back to the post office, but now felt different. She'd talked to him on the phone. That was the start. She didn't know what she was doing or whether she had the guts to send it, but she thought to start a letter. Carrying the box of postcards to her office down the hall, she set it on the table. Lureen bit her lip, lit up a smoke, and studied the box hard. She wanted to do this. She and Jack had been friends, and she wanted to do this for him. She had been mad at Jack for a few weeks-- still sort of was-- but she needed to settle this, here and now. She needed to prove to herself that she could do something for Jack. She didn't want to be mad at Jack any more. At Randall, yes. At Ennis, no, there, too. Somehow being mad at Ennis felt like being mad at Jack. Somewhere in her mind the line between them started to blur, and she wondered why she really wanted to meet Ennis. She hoped it wasn't to try and recapture something of Jack. No, it was something else. She'd never known real love, fairy-tale Disney story love, but it made her sort of happy that Jack had. Maybe that was his recompense for the crushed face that was all she could see of him any more without the aid of a picture.

Hands not shaking at all, she pulled a piece of "Newsome Farm and Tractor" letterhead from the desk. Not knowing where to begin, she just did:

_Mr. Ennis del Mar;_

_I've been cleaning out some of Jack's things, and there are some items pertaining to you. I thought I should return them to you. I'll send a box along in a week or two._

She considered ending the letter there, but she still felt haunted. She had to say more.

_I reckon you can ken the real reason behind Jack's untimely death. I'm sorry I couldn't speak more plainly on the phone, but I hadn't quite figured out if you ought to know the truth or not. You struck me as someone who'd figure it out anyway._

_I thought you would want to know I got no hard feelings. I know I didn't make Jack so very happy as a wife. He was a good man, full of energy and love, and I always wondered where he got that optimism that came so naturally to him. Maybe he had it all along, maybe he got it from carrying you around in his heart all the time. I'm just glad he had something to carry around in his heart. Mine's been empty a long time._

She paused, her breath starting to come in ragged chunks. She felt she was saying too much of the unsayable, but Jack's face, in her mind's eyes, was no longer so beat up. She could almost see his eyes twinkling, but only almost. She had to keep writing.

_I thought you'd want to know that Jack did speak of you. I hadn't hardly imagined-- well, then, but I didn't want to-- but I ought to have seen in retrospect. He did speak of you. Sometimes he would tell me what jokes you would think were funny, or about your horses, or even once about your daughters. I remember he said, "they were the prettiest lil things, just like angels" or some such thing. I can't say. I know I haven't been too good of a listener, but I do feel like I know you. If you ever need anything, we're here, as good as family. That extends to your daughters, too. I don't know if Jack's parents will extend the same invitation. Not his father from the way Jack talks, but maybe his mother._

_I hope I'm not asking too much when I ask you to please write back to confirm you got this letter. I know writing it is settling my mind immensely. I would have called you if I'd known where to look. I probably would have known where to look if I'd tried. I must confess I didn't try very hard, and that was wrong of me. It wasn't fair to you to find out some other way, that postcard I sent back. Sorry about that._

_I am afraid my letter has run long. I imagine you are not a man of many words, if judging by your post cards gives any account. You told me you were sorry for my loss. It's true I lost one of my best friends, but I am afraid it cannot compare to your loss, and I know no apology I could issue would fix it. Hopefully my invitation can. I imagine it'd make Jack happy anyway. I always was a sucker for his smile._

_Sincerely,_

_Lureen Newsome Twist._

The letter looked oddly long and personal sitting there on her desk. Her letters typically ran more to the one-to-two sentence variety. But she could see Jack smiling, no scars, no blood, bright blue eyes as clear as day in her head. She considered not mailing the letter, her own conscience somehow cleared just by the writing of it. But she knew, now that it was written, it was needed-- twelve hundred miles away in Wyoming.

* * *

Sunday morning found Ennis not at church-- he hadn't been since the divorce-- but instead straightening up the trailer. He cleaned just once a week, and not too thoroughly, but he didn't want Junior coming by and seeing a mess, either. She had a tendency to drop by unannounced, but Ennis didn't mind one bit.

Ennis stumbled down his trailer steps to get yesterday's mail. He wanted a smoke, and stopped to light one. Three tries, and the wind blew out his lighter each time. Sighing in frustration, he pocketed the lighter, and went for the mail. Was a windy day. That didn't surprise him much, though. Most days were in this flat god-forsaken land.

What did surprise him was a single, white envelope adorned with a pretty female hand. Even that did not surprise him as much as the return address. Childress, Texas. This had to be Lureen, he knew. He remembered her cold, emotionless voice on the phone. Was she has heartless as she sounded, he wondered? He found his hands were shaking as he reached for the trailer door, still staring at the envelope.

_It's true I lost one of my best friends, but I am afraid it cannot compare to your loss, and I know no apology I could issue would fix it._ He read the sentence a second time, stood to pour himself another cup of coffee, but thought better of it and poured a shot of whiskey instead. He lapsed into a recent habit of his, one he'd tried to break, but now ignored. "Whadda ya' got to say about that, Jack? Don't that beat all?" He leaned back over the letter, reread again, _It's true I lost one of my best friends, but I am afraid it cannot compare to your loss, and I know no apology I could issue would fix it. Hopefully my invitation can. I imagine it'd make Jack happy anyway. I always was a sucker for his smile._ "Does it make ya' happy, bud?" Ennis smiled a tight, bittersweet smile. I always was a sucker for his smile, Lureen had said. Would this recapture Jack's smile? Didn't need much recapturing for Ennis. Whenever he thought of Jack he saw that smile, all eyeteeth and mischief. But there was something desperate about the way Lureen said it, like she was desperate for that smile. Desperation. That was an emotion Ennis could understand.

Suddenly feeling older than his years, Ennis leaned back in the rickety chair. He sighed, rubbing his hand over his eye. "Fuck, Jack, what the hell am I supposed to do?" Do I just up and write her, 'yeh, glad to know you know I was fucking your husband for sixteen years and then some, so glad for the invitation, the girls and I'll be right there.' Wanted to say it all aloud to Jack but couldn't, never knew who could be listening. I imagine it'd make Jack happy anyway, she'd said. What would? Issuing the invitation? Sure, Jack'd be happy just to know Lureen was accepting all this, to know anyone was accepting all this, but what'd really make Jack happy, Ennis knew, was to know Ennis was accepting all this. It was an idea he still hadn't gotten used to. He'd made a vow, whether to himself or Jack he couldn't be sure, didn't seem to be much distinction any more, but he'd made a promise that he was going to come to terms with this. He had a lot to come to terms with. Lureen was willing to accept, out in the open of her family, it seemed, that Jack and Ennis had been in a queer relationship. Ennis was not quite as ready as all that, but that's what would make Jack Twist happy, oh boy yes. And Ennis had always been a sucker for Jack's smile.

* * *

Ennis eyed the envelope, leaning against his steering wheel. 1226. That was the right number. Now or never, and he popped open the door of the truck.

The sidewalk seemed interminably long, and he half expected someone to pop out of the bushes to beat the crap out of him before he could make it to the door. Ennis held the envelope in front of him like some sort of shield. It was his guest pass to be in this place. He was allowed. He was invited. He pushed the doorbell.

"Coming," he heard a female voice shout. Then the door swung open. "Can I help you?"

Ennis, caught off guard by the youthful face and full head of improbably-colored blonde hair, having difficulty imaging his Jack with this woman, finally understood what Jack had felt that day he'd been introduced to Alma. This woman could-- and had-- gone out, danced, dined, and held Jack Twist's hand, for 20 years, all in public. What right did Ennis del Mar have to show up at the widow's house, pretending to be something to somebody? Who was he to be here? The widower, that's who. But he hadn't really been a part of this Jack Twist's life. The Jack he knew lived on a mountain twelve hundred miles away. He didn't realize he'd been standing on the front porch without saying a word for almost a full minute.

"Can I help you," the woman repeated. When he didn't answer, she huffed, "good day," and started to close the door.

Ennis knew he had to find his voice, now and here, and claim what had been his all along, now in death, more so since he hadn't in life. "Uh, Ennis del Mar, ma'am?" He hadn't meant for it to come out as a question, like he was asking permission to be Ennis del Mar-- but in way he was.

She opened the door wider. Now she was silent. She eyed him, and he shrank from her gaze, burying his brow deeper in his hat brim, looking down, and fiddling with the envelope in his hand. When she didn't speak, he repeated, more articulately this time, "Uh, hello, Mrs. Lureen Twist? I came by to tell you I got your letter."

Now she laughed. "I meant for you to write to tell me you'd got it, not to drive to Texas."

"Oh, umm, is it not alright that I'm here, ma'am? Wouldn't be no bother for me t'head back," he lied.

"No, no! I said like family, and I meant it. Jack would want it that way. Come on in." She held the door wider and Ennis stepped into the cool air-conditioned white-tiled front foyer like he was being born a second time.


	2. Chapter 2

She was trembling like a plucked guitar string. She weren't a trembler and it didn't make any sense to her, but she knew she had to hide it. Lureen crammed her hands into her pockets and sought an escape from the room. "Get you somethin'? Got some ice tea, pretzels, can make some coffee, anythin'?"

"Thank you but no thank you, ma'am." Ennis had taken off his hat and was standing close behind her.

"Please, have a seat, won't you?" Her mind had quickly clicked into good hostess mode, and she was grateful. The sense of protocol stopped her trembling, gave her some idea of what to do next. But now, drink and food offered but refused, seat taken, she had nothing left to say to Ennis. She took the seat across from him, and hoped he knew what to say to her. She should have known better.

* * *

Ennis thought he should think of something to say to this woman, to Lureen, but it was all too much for him at the moment. He hadn't thought beyond ringing the doorbell, mostly because he hadn't expected to get that far. He probably would have turned right back around towards home as soon as he'd seen the aluminum siding, if it hadn't been for the fact that he'd driven the past five hours in second gear. Something was wrong with the transmission, and it were the one part of the truck he didn't know how to fix. He'd trusted it this far, didn't trust it to head back to Wyoming, but hadn't worried that far ahead yet. There was enough worrying to do in this too-clean living room for him to think on that yet.

Everything reminded him of Jack. There was a family picture up on the wall, Jack, Lureen, and a boy that must have been Bobby and looked so like Jack he might've just split off from Jack himself. At least Ennis knew that boy was Jack's. Lureen was probably a faithful wife, or too busy to be unfaithful, Ennis thought, remembering the sex-over-the-phone comment.

The table next to the couch held a yard sale copy of _A Pictorial Guide of Western History_. Lureen didn't look like a history buff. A coaster had been haphazardly used as a bookmark, the page Jack last was reading beckoning to Ennis. He wondered if he was sitting where Jack usually sat. Could he know the feel of a Jack-worn-chair by the ass impression alone? That wasn't a good thought; it brought up all sorts of feelings that weren't proper to be thinking in the widow's home.

There was a vase of tulips on the dining room table. One night at camp, he and Jack'd been foolin' with words, the way they did, and he'd joked about getting Jack a bouquet of tulips or somethin'.

"_Nah, I don't like tulips. They're Lureen's favorite flower though. Little whores if ya' ask me. Ever notice a tulip in the afternoon in the full sun, how it opens up all its pedals, lays 'em flat, that desperate for it? Little whore of a flower."_

_Ennis couldn't hide his smile at that. It was the sort of thing only Jack would think of, didn't make any sense, but he knew that didn't make it less true to Jack. "Maybe then I could get you roses."_

"_Ennis del Mar, you go gettin' me flowers, they better hell be dandelions, 'cause I know you cain't afford nothing' else."_

Since that day, tulips had reminded him of Jack. Dandelions, too. Hell, even roses. Goddamnit, just about everything reminded him of Jack. Was a hell of a way to live when you're missin' on someone so bad. Ennis found himself staring back at the coaster-marked book, fighting the urge to reach down and see what page Jack'd been on, when Lureen spoke.

"So, how're your daughters then?"

"Oh, fine, fine, ma'am. My oldest, Junior? She's engaged to be married."

"Oh yeah? That's good to hear. I bet you and your wife are excited."

"Ex-wife ma'am. Yeah, Junior, she's a good gal, deserves a best."

Lureen blew a breath out of her mouth, seemed to give him a meaningful look. Ennis went back to starring at the book, but he noticed Lureen followed his gaze.

"Yeah, Jack really liked lookin' at them pictures of the mountains. Moran and all that. Said it reminded him of home. Read lots of stories about Indians."

Ennis simply nodded. Lureen took it as encouragement to keep talking.

"Bobby be home soon, next half hour, I'd guess. He'll want ta' meet ya', I think."

Ennis hazarded a sidelong glance at Lureen, wishing his manners would let him plop his hat back on his head. "Does he, ma'am--" Ennis had no idea how to ask what he was about to ask, but he knew it needed asking. "I mean, how much does he--" Ennis couldn't finish. His lips wouldn't work any more. Lureen, voice all cold and hard as ice, saved him.

"Oh yeah, he knows. Counselor thought it'd be for the best. See, Jack's death, it managed to be quite a public affair on account of my daddy's money. I'm awful glad my daddy is dead, woulda' killed him otherwise. Everyone round here knows about Jack and Randall now. I thought it might be healthier if Bobby was thinkin' on Jack and you instead, Bobby feelin' like he knows you and respects you already, I hope. Randall and his wife're gettin' a divorce, Randall's gotta move outta the area and fast if he wants to--" She didn't say any more.

Randall. The word stung soul-deep and he eyed the tulips again. _Little whores, perfect for you, Jack Twist. Fuckin' perfect_. Something about it must have been showing on his face, because Lureen's tone softened a bit and she spoke again.

"Now, listen here, Ennis. I know a thing or two about betrayal in all this, I think. Take it from me, you don't got an angry leg to stand on. Jack might have been-- you know-- me, and Randall, and you, but was only one of us whose name he muttered in his sleep, and it weren't me or Randall. I'm thinkin' it's us should be mad at you." She said it without any anger whatsoever, and the words broke something in Ennis, not with a shattering crack, just a soft whimper, like he'd been holding his breath and could finally let it out again. He found himself fighting tears, and shakes.

"Ma'am? You gotta place I could catch some fresh air? Mebbe a smoke?" He couldn't say it cleanly, sounded like he had a cat stuffed in his mouth, the tail down his throat, all muffled and thick.

She smiled cleanly, emotionlessly, rising from her chair, "You can smoke inside, but for air, follow me, gotta deck out back. Bet you'll like it. Jack's favorite place around here."

* * *

And like it he did. The deck was small, simply two Adirondack-style chairs, painted with a red-brown stain, with a matching table between them. It was the first simple setting he'd seen since arriving in Childress, Texas. Of the two chairs, one was well-worn, stain fading where tight jeans had rubbed it too long, wood stained darker where a dark head had rested against it, hair oils and sweat soaking into the stain. The other chair was unworn. The side of the table nearest the first chair was a flurry of water rings just exactly the size of a beer bottle. Ennis hasn't thought to ask Lureen if she'd had any beer, and was tempted to go back inside for just that, but didn't really want to leave the deck. There was an ash tray, a simple glass one, and a couple cigarette burns on the little table.

Ennis wasted no time in fitting his denim against the denim-worn chair, wishing it could be denim-on-denim instead. He leaned his light-colored head back against the dark-colored wood, couldn't see to see that his head landed a full inch and a half too high to meet Jack's stain, but knew it anyway. It didn't matter; an inch and a half didn't have anything against twenty years of deep loving. That was why he was here in Texas, after all. Well, one of the reasons. Ennis gathered now that that's what Jack had been trying to tell him, all through those twenty years. Jack and Ennis might not fit together like a man and a woman, their lives might not fit together like a man and a wife, but they'd found their way of fitting, and they should have taken it, _forced_ their lives to fit together. Ennis knew that now, but a few months too late after all.

Leaning against the chair in the cool Texas breeze that wasn't near as cool as the Wyoming breeze, Ennis drifted off, not even thinking to light a cigarette.

* * *

Ennis woke, not long later by the look of the Sun slanting westward, not much changed, to the sound of the sliding glass door opening. He started, and turned, and his sleep-foggy mind found Jack Twist proffering a beer in his direction.

Ennis was nearly ashamed of the spike of red hot hope that overwhelmed him, as his brain kicked in and told him this was Bobby Twist, not Jack. Ennis could have nearly cried tears of frustration. That was cruel and not fair, is what. No boy had such a right to look like his father.

A closer inspection, however, and Ennis saw that Bobby didn't _really_ look like his father. He had the same thin face, the same dark hair, too long, boy needed a hair cut, and it was curling a bit from the length. His eyebrows were thinner, his eyes blue, but a less vibrant shade. He had a tiny mole on his cheek that put Ennis in mind of Jack, and Bobby's mouth was wide. Where Ennis had seen so little of Jack in Mr. and Mrs. Twist, he saw a lot of his man in this boy before him.

"Hey. You want this? I figured you might go for a beer." Bobby plopped the beer in the forest of water rings on the table. He, apparently, had no problems mingling Ennis-water-rings with Jack-water-rings, and Ennis took courage from it.

"Uh, hi, Ennis del Mar." Ennis stuck out his hand towards the boy.

Bobby took his hand, shook it, and answered, "I know who you are, Mr. del Mar."

"Call me Ennis."

"Ennis, then."

Ennis finally shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. He felt awful guilty sitting here next to Jack's boy, although he couldn't say why. Not that he didn't have any reason to be guilty. More like, he had too many and didn't know which to chose from.

Bobby sat down in the unused chair, starring towards the horizon. "That's the chair my daddy used to sit in."

"Yup." Ennis didn't know what else to say to that.

"My ma told me about you n' him."

"Yup."

"Gotta admit, I don't get it, you know? Men , I mean, I mean woman are so damn-- well, anyway, don't think I would'a had many kind words to say to you before, but, well, this was all sort of dropped on us. I've been going to this counseling, you see. The school thought it was best, on account of everyone knowing, cain't make it through a day of school without something bad being said about me or my daddy."

"Sorry t'hear that."

"Oh, it'll all blow over. They'll find some other fag-- man, I mean, to beat on, forget all about the Twists. Think mama's business is suffering a little bit, but they ain't near ta' going under, so I don't think she should worry."

Ennis couldn't fathom why Bobby Twist was practically laying out his family business right there on Ennis, first time they met, other than the easy explanation of his being Jack's son. It vaguely occurred to him that maybe Bobby was as nervous about this meeting as he was, and dealing with it the only way he knew how-- talking.

Ennis felt he and Bobby had already gotten off on the wrong foot. He was Bobby's senior by over twenty years, Bobby's daddy's, well, something to Bobby's daddy, and he'd driven to Texas in part to meet this boy. Now he was letting Bobby take charge of the conversation, letting Bobby dance around the subject. No more, he was going to be the adult here, have the balls to say what needed saying, have the balls to say what Jack wanted him to say. He might never get another chance like this. Bobby was still prattling on about his mama's business when Ennis cleared his throat.

"Look here, Bobby. You and I gotta speak plain. I 'preciate your mama telling you about me n' your daddy, but I would just as soon as told you myself. I don't know what your daddy had going on with other men 'round here, with this Randall fella', or in Mexico or what have you," saying those words stung Ennis deeply, knowing there was a story there he would never hear because he hadn't wanted to know, even though he'd been co-author, "but your daddy meant a lot ta' me. I know it cain't bring him back, but I think Jack'd want us to be friends. Jack always wanted to share his real life with me, and I wasn't having none of it, not wanting to be no queer, but I been real stupid for too long 'bout that, so you gotta know that that's what I'm here for, and I know I don't rightly fit in to this life here in Texas, but I don't much care, 'cause the way I figure, a good part of it rightly belongs to me anyhow. Reckon your ma sees that, too."

Bobby, frowned at Ennis, and spared a nod in the direction of the horizon. He cleared his own throat, and spoke not as a boy who had lost his father at all, but as the man of the house. "I see, so that's why you came here is it? You want some of my daddy's things, money, then?"

"What? No, no money." Ennis was shocked. He hadn't thought his words would be taken that way. This is why he hated talking; he almost never was able to say what he meant. He didn't want money. He wanted life. _I wanna take a little bit o' Jack's life back with me. You know, his toothbrush, shoulda' been in my own sink long ago, but I done left it here in Texas too long._ But how does a man say something like that?

"What, then?" Bobby asked, his voice low.

"I dunno; just want to know what Jack's life was like. I reckon I was supposed to share it with him, and I didn't want it. I want your daddy's life, not his money."

"My daddy's life? You're a few months too late for that then, Ennis del Mar."

_Don't I know it?_ Ennis rubbed course fingers across the bridge of his nose. He thought the conversation was going in all the wrong directions. God, how he hated conversations. They always went in their own directions, no mind to all the road signs. Unpredictable. Even Jack had been predictable in his silly ways, but Bobby, Bobby was a little more loose-reined. He'd planned his whole fucking speech for Jack Twist. Jack would have heard between all those words to what they all meant. Jack would have known about the toothbrush. Ennis had no idea how to talk about matters of the heart to anyone other than Jack. He'd even failed with Alma. Jack was his intermediary between his heart and the tangible world. And here he was, up a creek, no paddle, no Jack. Drowning.

Bobby sighed, rose, and turned to go inside. He stopped at the sliding door. "Listen, Mr. del Mar, I don't understand you, and I don't know why you're here, but I do agree that my daddy'd want us to be friends, so even though I can't say as I approve of his relationship with you, I've long moved past that by now. I been hearing your name all my life, and now here you are in the flesh in my mama's house, offering to be my friend. I don't know why you're offering, but I figure I better take that offer while it's on the table. One thing I've learnt recently, you gotta take your chances when they come, 'cause they might not come again."

"Yeah," Ennis sighed, "learned that too."

Bobby nodded. "I'm going to wash up for dinner. I think my mama has a plan on us all going to a restaurant."

"Didn't bring no restaurant clothes with me."

"Can borrow some of my daddy's."

Ennis made a noise in his throat that might have been a laugh, even he wasn't sure, and shook his head, "Nope, don't fit me. Maybe a shirt. An old one."

"That'll be fine, I don't think we're going anywhere fancy. Mama boxed daddy's stuff up for Goodwill, but the boxes are in the basement still. She hasn't been moving too fast on those. Help yourself to whatever you find there. Basement is that door right off the kitchen. Boxes are the big set right at the bottom of the stairs. I'm sure mama won't mind, take what you like." Bobby turned, slid open the door too quickly, and walked into the house before Ennis could protest again. God knew Ennis didn't feel like going to no restaurant with Lureen and Bobby Twist, but he was a guest here and would do it if they wanted him to. He took a long sip of his untouched beer, and decided to finish it before washing up himself.

"So help me, Jack, that boy a' yours, 'nough ta' give a man a headache. Talks too much." He laughed, an open, carefree sort of laugh, and added, "don't know where the hell he gets _that_." The Texas air felt good out here, Jack's deck, Jack's chair, Jack's beer, little pieces of Jack's life, now belonging to Ennis.


	3. Chapter 3

The beer finished, Ennis slipped inside the glass door. He could hear a shower going. He slipped towards the kitchen, his boot steps creaking on the rustic stairs, Jack's basement stairs. How many times had Jack's boots creaked down these stairs, he tried not to ask himself.

The boxes were right there at the bottom of the steps, as he'd been told. Opening the first one he saw Jack's clothes alright. He remembered this black collared shirt.

_Leaning into the afternoon sun, Ennis's skin crawled with the smell of Jack Twist. "Hmm." It was all he could get out of his mouth._

"_Fuck, but it's hot for October."_

"_Mebbe you're overdressed." Ennis gently fondled the shirt right off of Jack's back. Jack didn't fight him, just let it be. Ennis took a moment to smell the thick cotton fabric before abandoning it for the real deal._

He remembered this pair of khakis.

"_What you all dressed up for?"_

"_Hunh? Oh, nothin', just came from one of LD's business meetings in Denver."_

"_Meeting just happen ta be last week?"_

"_No, Ennis, meeting's this week. I went and registered so they'd know I been there."_

"_Don't you got ta actually be there?"_

"_Yeah, probably, but screw LD."_

"_You sleepin' around on me, Twist?"_

"_Fuck you, Ennis."_

That hat, he knew that hat.

"_Why ya got a new hat most ev'ry time I see ya, huh?" He was smiling as he said it._

_Jack smiled back. "Don't worry, still got the old one around somewhere. Figured maybe I impress ya' enough you'll run away with me."_

They'd both laughed about that, like it was some sort of joke, not comfortable with the truths underneath it.

Ennis knew he had to stop the stream of memories and quickly. He backed away from the boxes, his jaw flexing. He felt moisture around his eyes and willed it to disappear. He heard footsteps on those creaky stairs, Lureen's basement stairs. Lureen's footsteps. She was standing next to him, wearing fancy blue jeans with jewels on them and a yellow blouse, yellow hair freshly piled to improbable heights.

"I see ya found these old boxes." Her voice sounded tired. "Let me help ya find somethin' in them." Her eyes were studying him, making him uncomfortable, seeing things she wasn't meant to see: his eyes wet, his pants tight. "What're you, a 32-36 or so?"

"Uh, wear a 30-36 ma'am. But Jack—"

She smiled cooly, "yeah, you're a toothpick, alright. Well, we aren't goin' any place too fancy. Thought I'd take you to Jack's favorite steakhouse. Your jeans will be alright, but I think we can get you a nice shirt out of here."

Seeing Lureen's hands sifting through Jack's shirts made him think of a different shirt of Jack's. _His arms are shorter than mine, and I got proof._ Although he didn't need proof, he knew Jack's body better than his own. Had known.

Finally, Lureen pulled out a white collared shirt, pretty simple and cotton, but clean and smelling like moth balls, like it came out of a box of dead man's clothes. "This was always a little big on Jack, not sure where he got it." She handed it to Ennis.

Ennis couldn't stifle an ironic smile, though God knew he wanted to. "It's mine, ma'am."

"_Ennis, where'd your nice white shirt go off to?"_

"_I dunno, Alma, probably in the wash."_

"_No you haven't worn it since I washed it. Unless you took it fishing."_

"_Might have."_

"_Well it's not in your laundry."_

"_I dunno, Alma!"_

_Damnit, Jack,_ Ennis thought, _you a professional shirt thief? _Ennis could guess why Jack liked his shirts. Sweaty days of riding, sometimes they wore the same shirts multiple days, his shirts must come away stinkin' of him to high heaven.

The look Lureen was givin' him made him feel sicker n' a fat dog. "Sorry ma'am." Wasn't sure what he was apologizing for.

"Mmm, whatever. Here's your shirt back." She walked away up the stairs, leaving a cloud of discomfort behind her.

* * *

Freshly showered, hair combed, dressed in his jeans and his clean white moth-balls shirt, one of Jack's silly, too-big, turquoise bolo-ties around his neck, and his own hat on his head, the three of them piled silently into a large white box-shaped sedan, Ennis in the front next to Lureen. 

"Ya' say this was Jack's favorite restaurant?"

"Well, we went there a lot. Had a date there, when we were real young. I guess we kept goin' back."

"Don't go to restaurants much myself."

"Yup."

Seeing there was no use in making small talk, Ennis contented himself with watching the world of Childress, Texas reel by his window.

The steakhouse, when they got there, was surrounded by fancy trucks and box-sedans. Ennis felt awful awkward there among nice company, but he figured he looked alright, man and his wife and child going into a restaurant, no one had to know why he was here. Except Lureen said Jack's death had been pretty public, hadn't she? Would someone figure all this out? He felt his palms sweat.

They were seated at an open table. No one was talking for a bit, Bobby least of all. Ennis took the menu from the waitress with a "thank, ya', ma'am." He watched Bobby and Lureen fold the menus open, choose dishes, and close it up again quickly. They came here a lot, it seemed. Ennis couldn't see the menu for shit.

"So, uh, Mrs. Twist?"

She nodded civilly at him, adding, "Call me Lureen."

"Lureen? What was, uh, I mean, what was Jack's favorite dish?"

"Oh, I guess he," she squinted in Bobby's direction, "I guess he ordered the eight ounce porterhouse with mashed potatoes and corn, although sometimes he would get beans instead of corn. And a corona."

Ennis's mouth twitched. Jack wouldn't have ordered no beans 'cept for one reason. And he didn't have a clue what a corona was. But he knew Jack'd want him to eat damn beans in this steakhouse, so he ordered the same, but with a bud.

They ate dinner silently except for the occasional discussion between Bobby and Lureen along the lines of "how was your day" and "did you sign that notice from my English teacher?" Ennis ignored them.

He was still folded in on himself when a shadow loomed over the table, and Lureen stopped halfway through a sentence about some TV show she and Bobby had both seen. One of those subtle looks of discomfort that Ennis was coming to be familiar with as Lureen's primary emotion fluttered across her brow. You had to watch for her displays of emotion or you'd miss them. He was learning. Ennis, chewing on a mighty fine steak, turned to see who the visitor was.

He was a tall but well-built man, about Ennis's own age. His sandy colored hair continued into a beard, which ornamented the scowl he was wearing. Nevertheless, when he spoke, he was all civility.

"Lureen. Bobby." He nodded at Ennis. The newcomer's eyes stopped on, and then drowned in, the small side-dish of as-yet-untouched pork-n'-beans next to Ennis's porterhouse.

When Lureen spoke, her voice was a little trembly, and Ennis knew already that that was unusual enough from Lureen that this has to be someone that had her upset. She seemed more angry than anything else. "Randall," she said tightly, "this is Ennis del Mar. Ennis, Randall Malone."

Ennis's world lurched to a stop. That name was burned with fire into his soul, not soon to be forgotten. His jaw, his eyes, his heart, _his groin_ were all working now, trying to grab for Jack and claim him, as vision of this man grunting atop of Jack flooded his mind unwelcome. Randall held out a civil hand, but Ennis found himself furiously gripping the bridge of his nose, knowing he couldn't cry in public, and that if he didn't, he'd have to slug Randall, and he couldn't do that here either. _Christ help me_, he thought.

"What's wrong with you, friend?" Randall offered him a toothy, mustachioed smile, but not the right kind.

"C'mon, Randall," Lureen's voice held a stern note of warning, "leave the man alone." He's had a rough time."

Ennis couldn't make out whether Randall knew who he was or not, but he knew a moment later when Randall hissed, quiet-like under his breath, "seemed to me he caused more rough times than he's had."

Silence pounded around the table. Ennis, still with his hand pressed between his eyes, staring at his bowl of cold beans, muttered, "that's so."

Randall stood a little taller, studying Ennis. Finally he spoke. "I have a right mind to slug you right here Ennis del Mar."

"I could say the same," Ennis muttered to his beans, feeling his pulse trying to steady itself. He felt a wave of—something, nausea? relief?—float over him, as Bobby decided to enter the conversation, his own voice tight, also with anger—and perhaps with something that sounded like—grief?

"Mr. Malone, there's a lady here, and her house guest. You have a mind to take a swing at anyone here and you'll find me swinging at you, too, though I'm not of a mind to defend Mr. del Mar here and I doubt he needs defending. I ain't so sure I'm not looking for an excuse to take that swing, so you'd better move along." He was just a kid, and staring fiercely into his pop. Jack had raised a real man, here.

Randall huffed a bit, nodded, and said low to Ennis, "Maybe I'll have to come around sometime when there's not a lady present," and he stormed out of the restaurant. He appeared to have been eating alone. Ennis wondered if he'd ordered beans, but doubted it.

Finally raising his head, Ennis managed to exchange looks with Lureen and Bobby. In Lureen's eyes he saw the edge of sympathy, of pain. "I'm sorry, Ennis, I didn't want to see him any more than you did," she muttered. "Sonofabitch makes me madder than anything."

Ennis's eyes drifted to Bobby's. Bobby didn't say anything, just nodded, but his eyes were crystal-clear, no fear or hatred or anger left in them. Something was there, though. Ennis didn't know what it was simply because he wasn't too used to being respected.


	4. Chapter 4

After Randall left, the dinner fell into an uncomfortable silence. Lureen paid without even a glance at Ennis. He was grateful, didn't have the money, but felt mighty awkward about it. He hadn't come to Texas for money. Bobby already feared that, and Ennis didn't want to make it so even unintentionally. His mind started a tally, and he would have to find a way to pay back Lureen.

The car ride back to the house was even quieter. Lureen broke the silence at last. Ennis had learned she was not one to skirt emotional issues. "Sorry again 'bout that. Didn't have any intention of you meetin' him."

"Ma'am." It was all Ennis could think to say, the only words his mouth would produce amid a whirlwind of thoughts he'd rather not be having, and wondering whether Randall would make good on his promise and come back sometime when Lureen wasn't around. Probably—seemed a man of action. He couldn't go using Lureen's presence to protect himself, though. Randall was a big fellow, but nothing Ennis couldn't handle. Physically, anyway.

The car pulled up and Ennis pulled his over-stuffed frame out of the passenger seat, hoping every meal was not going to be as overdone as that one. Bobby moved with a purpose towards the door, mumbling something about homework, Lureen and Ennis following. Bobby disappeared down the clean white hallway where his bedroom was. Ennis watched the boy walk, his stride fluid and strong like his daddy's, but different somehow, more erect.

His thoughts were penetrated by Lureen's smooth voice behind him. "Guest room's right over here." She led him through a door. "There're towels in the linen closet." She pointed to a hallway door. "You know where the bathroom is."

"Yes, ma'am." Ennis floundered in the guest bedroom, which was done in peaches and florals, expensive paintings of the desert on the wall, expensive desk lamp, expensive carved wooden furniture, and an alarm clock complete with a tape player. He felt like a coyote at a dog show.

"I gotta go ta work in the mornin'. Help yourself ta whatever. Just relax tomorrow I guess. 'Less you got business in town?"

"No, ma'am, no business."

"Suit yourself. Can stay as long as ya like, but I gotta be at work." She turned to leave, her hair leaving a chemical breeze behind her.

"Ma'am?" Ennis interrupted her stride and she turned back towards him. "Can I… I mean, are Jack's remains far from here?" He didn't mean for his voice to crack as he said it, but there were a lot of things Ennis thought of as Jack's remains, and none of them were ashes. Spit, semen, littered cigarette butts, whiskey bottles, the way he would just throw his underwear in any old direction in the tent, the way he didn't eat the fatty bits of meat like he was too good for them, the bits of Jack that were left after Ennis was done tearing his man to pieces. Now, the ashes too.

"Couple miles. Can go over ta the mausoleum tomorrow night if ya want."

Ennis nodded, though he had no intention of taking her up on that. If he was going to visit Jack, he was going to do it alone, the way he'd been doing for twenty years. Two miles wasn't too far to go after twelve hundred.

Before settling to bed, Ennis took a beer out of the fridge and stepped back onto the deck. Before long he found his feet tracing their way down the deck stairs. The yard wasn't too big by Wyoming standards, but it had a three-car garage, maybe a couple acres of land, a woodpile, a grill shinier than anything Ennis had seen but looking completely unused, and a large half-built shed. Ennis wandered over to the shed. He figured Jack had to be in the process of building it, since the work looked like it'd been stopped mid-stride and not continued, long enough for a hammer lying outside by a sawhorse to get rusty where it joined the wood. The edges where Jack joined the world were rusting over too soon.

The inside was in the process of being toe-nailed. The sun had long ago set, but the roof was unfinished, and a clear shaft of full moonlight illuminated the room. A little makeshift table of ply wood and cinder blocks held a couple books on building outdoor structures. That was Jack-- needing a book to do something he'd probably done ten times as a kid but had lost the knack of in his life as a salesman. The top book was simply on shed-building. It had some notes in the margins as well: lists of supplies, timelines, phone numbers of lumber yards, swear words. Ennis ran a cool finger across the familiar scrawl, hard to see by the dim light, and lifted the top book to see the one underneath it.

It was similar, a guide to building, though the title read _Building Your Own Cabin_. This weren't no cabin. It was large for a shed, but just a shed. Ennis started at the back, flipping through its pages too. There were a couple notes, not many, places where soil types were underlined or drawings in the book had been drawn over, designs changed. Ennis shrugged, thinking nothing of it, until he got to a page that was blank, right before a new chapter, and the notes there were copious, written in every direction like the names at the back of the yearbooks of the kids as had been able to afford them in high school. "Bet he doesn't like ceiling fans," one said. "Be nice to have the woodpile accessible from the inside and outside." "He won't wanna spring for a dishwasher."

Ennis felt red heat moving up to his face. That's what this was. Jack had been planning a cabin with this Randall. Ennis's stomach clenched, his hands gripped the edges of the book tightly, and he managed to heft it, light as it was, and hurl it against one unfinished wall. A thick paper fluttered on its own breeze from inside the front cover and fell to the floor.

Kicking himself for wanting to know, screwing up his mouth to keep from yelling at Jack within earshot of his wife and child, Ennis crossed the shed in a couple steps and picked up the paper. Tears were already in his eyes, red hot tears of rage, his mouth set firmly against them, when he unfolded the paper, but the moonlit shed wasn't bright enough to read it. Telling himself he'd better take it outside anyway in case the clenching in his stomach turned to something more, Ennis swept back out into the cool Texas air. Holding it up to the moon, he could just make it out. They were blueprints alright, and in Jack's handwriting too. One room was labeled "our room" and the feeling in Ennis's gut twisted to become more painful.

Like watching a train wreck, the last consequences of the killing he'd done to Jack himself, he examined those Jack-and-Randall house plans as well as he could, holding them at arm's length in the paleness. One room had the fireplace on one side and a kitchen and front door on the other, with a table in the middle. Meager compared to Jack's current—former—current but former—living conditions. The one side of the room led to a hallway with a bathroom and the "our room." All of that was done in dark blue pen and clear to read.

On the other side of the big room, though, and only in pencil, was another hallway, harder to see in the moonlight. Squinting through angry tears, Ennis could make out two rooms off that hallway. One said "Bobby's room." Yeah, right, Jack stupid shithead Twist thinks him and his burly-man lover are going to get custody of Bobby. The other room was labeled too, in that scrawl of Jack's, and the words there underlined. They took a minute to sink in all the way, all the way to the pit of his stomach and further. "The girls," they said. Ennis lost his expensive steak dinner right there by the shed.

* * *

The sun screamed through his East-facing window, alerting Ennis that he'd overslept. The house was empty. A note on the kitchen table let him know that Lureen had left for work and Bobby for school, and that Lureen wasn't likely to be home until after dinner, but Bobby'd be home by four o'clock. Ennis wondered whether Lureen had even meant what she'd said about the mausoleum if she was going to be working so late. Maybe she'd forgot. It didn't matter. What was clear to Ennis was that the four-mile-round-trip had no better time to start itself than right now. 

He dressed in the shirt he'd worn the day before, planning on a shower after he finished this. He wasn't even sure why he was doing it. He didn't really want to see some fancy room where Jack's name was inscribed next to that asshole father-in-law of his, some sort of venerable "John C. Twist" for people to spit on. He didn't want to see it because he knew Jack wouldn't have wanted it.

But that's why he had to go. He didn't know what he believed concerning death and God's judgment, but in case any kind of spirit of Jack was left in this space, he deserved to know he wasn't alone, wasn't relegated to an eternity next to L.D. Newsome without someone thinking on what a towering shame it was. Ennis had to apologize to Jack for the world, 'cause there wasn't no way the world would be apologizing for itself anytime soon.

The walk went quickly and warmed Ennis through. Somehow it felt right to be moving his feet towards Jack, but it was like Bobby had said and too late. Still, he felt so sure that no one else had done this. No one else had visited Jack since he'd been put here, just like Lureen had lied about tonight. There was no one else.

The mausoleum loomed across the graveyard, an ornate building with marble and columns and not at all anything like the Jack he'd fell in love with—cat piss and uneven strokes with the ax. The word, love, fell off his mind's tongue without a hitch, and Ennis fished through a pocket for a cigarette. There was no need to lie anymore, since there was no one left to lie about.

He started and finished the cigarette outside the mausoleum steps. Finally he bridged that last gap. The inside was cool, but much larger than he'd expected.

He underwent probably an hour of wandering up and down aisles of little drawers of ashes before he saw the first familiar name: Irene Claudette Newsome. As he kept walking, he saw Newsome after Newsome. Charles Robert Newsome. Sandra Newsome Baker & Lawrence Baker. Marianne & David Newsome. Loren David Newsome. John Charles Twist, Jr.

Ennis staggered, feeling like he'd been punched from somewhere inside. He clamped his jaw against rising bile and wished with all his might he hadn't come. Wished he hadn't even come to Texas. He could not see this.

Surprising even himself, his voice croaked "Jack" before he clamped his jaw again, something moving uncomfortably inside of him. He'd had to come because no one else would.

Except someone had. There was a little shelf above the row of names, mostly empty, but one card stood out. It was a simple white card, folded so it would stand. The front said, in no uncertain terms, "Jack."

Ennis knew he shouldn't look. Jack probably would have been annoyed, but it was never Jack he was afraid of, and it would have been that kind of annoyed where maybe a smile broke behind his eyes, and he would have said something like, "del Mar, why you takin' a sudden interest in my business?" Ennis would have chuckled and said something like, "Twist, I been interested in your business longer than's good for me."

Ennis leaned his head back, straining his neck and ears in all directions before reaching for the note. He'd come to Texas to share some of Jack's life, he told himself. Truth was he was just being a nosey son of a bitch, and he knew it, but no one was around watching, so. He snatched the card quickly and plucked it open.

_Jack—Boy, I miss you right hard, but I gotta get out of town. Nothing left here for me anyway. You hold tight for me, ya know I love you. – Randall_

Ennis felt his vision redden reading those words he'd never shared with Jack right there on a queer card in the public mausoleum. He guessed Randall didn't have anything left to hide in Childress, but Ennis thought maybe Randall didn't have a right to leave _anything_. _You hold tight for me_. Like hell. Ennis slammed the card back down on the shelf, balled his fists and walked right back to the mausoleum door. His hand was on the handle, fisted and white-knuckled, when he spotted the little table.

He'd seen it when he came in—a little table with a stack of white cards and a fancy pen. That's what they were for, he knew. This is what people did. He couldn't let Randall have the last word, he knew that much, though he didn't have a clue what to say. It didn't matter, though, 'cause he was through with walking away from Jack, wasn't he? He put pen to card and scrawled out:

_You asshole. – Ennis_

He balled that one up and threw it in a little trash can, set there also for that purpose. Ennis imagined countless, nameless people writing countless little white cards at this table. He imagined widows trying to fight out some words, and wondered how many of them has started with "you asshole." He doubted he was the first. He picked up another card and gave it a second shot.

_Bud look at this I'm in Texas. Your boy he talks like a freight train sometimes. Saw them plans. You know I am... Just wait on me, Jack. – Ennis_

Nope. It was too queer. He couldn't have that sentence hanging around the mausoleum for everyone to read. He didn't throw this one away, though, but tucked it into a pocket, and started a third:

_Jack I'm here. Miss you bud. Jack if you was here I got some things to say to you. Miss you. – Ennis_

Well, Ennis was not about to give it a fourth try. He wondered if he should have just stuck with the first. Jack probably would have laughed at it. Jack wouldn't laugh at this last one, it was too serious. Ennis frowned at it. It didn't say anything, but just like the toothpaste, if Jack could have read it, he would know what it meant. Ennis decided not to worry about it any more, walking back to the Newsome section and tucking his card in behind Randall's where he didn't think it had any chance of being seen. It wasn't for anyone but Jack.

He pressed his worn fingertips against the cool marble of "John Charles Twist, Jr.", then shoved off from it and turned to head back to Lureen's without hesitation. He knew somehow that no one, especially not Jack, was around here to read his card. He wondered if that meant there was no such thing as hell.

* * *

He arrived back in the late morning and decided to make himself useful. The garage was open, and he started by firing up the lawn tractor. The grass looked long and the tractor started easy. He mowed for a couple hours until he'd exhausted its tank and an extra tank of gas he'd found in the garage. By then his stomach was complaining so he went in for a late lunch. 

He found some ham, cheese, and mustard in the fridge. Pairing it with the bread he found in the pantry and another cold beer, Ennis took his lunch on the back porch. He must have fallen asleep there, though, because next he knew the glass door was opening, and Bobby Twist was smiling down at him again.

"What you lookin' so perky about?" Ennis was surprised that he'd asked that, but he was starting to think of Bobby as something akin to family, and he spared no words on his own daughters, since he had no other means of spoiling them.

Bobby's grin widened. "I got a B on my reading exam."

"No kidding?" Ennis remembered Jack had said something about Bobby having trouble reading.

"Yup! That's the highest grade I got in reading. You want another beer?"

"No'm fine."

"K. I think I got a higher grade 'cause it was an interesting story."

"That so?"

"Yeah. It was about these kids on a desert island. There were some gross parts and stuff. It was pretty neat."

Ennis eyed Bobby groggily. He seemed years younger than he'd seemed yesterday. This Bobby was better, Ennis thought, considering his own experience of growing up too soon from his own parents' deaths.

"You know I'm gonna have my driver's license soon?"

How did that boy switch topics so fast? "Yeah?"

"Yup! Say, what do you want for dinner?"

"You cook?"

"Some. I only know how to make a couple things, but I think I make them pretty well."

"Well, what's your favorite?"

Bobby frowned. "Oodles of noodles, I guess."

"Oodleswhat?"

"Oodles of noodles. It's a kind of soup that comes in a block and only takes a couple minutes."

It sounded crazy to Ennis. Who heard of soup coming in a block? Maybe he meant a box, like back on Brokeback. Ennis just nodded. "That sounds fine."

Bobby was smiling at Ennis when his face suddenly fell and those eight years came piling back on. Ennis turned to look where Bobby was looking over his shoulder, and there was Randall Malone, sauntering across the yard towards the back of the house.

"Bobby, maybe you should go on inside." Bobby wasn't his son, true, but Ennis felt a responsibility to keep Jack's boy from all manner unpleasantness, and this was likely to turn out to be that, but Bobby didn't move, only standing straighter.

Ennis stood, feeling achy in all his bones. Today had been enough for him. He was tired and this was the last thing he wanted to do, still haunted by that card in the mausoleum and feeling like he had no right to hit someone who loved Jack, though feeling the desire to with every bone in his hand.

"Can I help you?" Ennis squeezed out around clenched lips, descending the stairs to meet Randall head-on in the yard, in full sight of Bobby and the shed and God above.

To his surprise, Randall didn't start with fists flying, or any such thing, just a simple "del Mar," with a head nod. After a pause, Randall added, "think we need to talk."

Ennis surprised himself as he scolded Bobby over his shoulder, a fierce growl of "Bobby, I told you ta go inside." He was pleased when he got a sudden, harried "yessir" and heard the glass door open and close. If one thing was worse than having Bobby watch him fight Randall, it would be having Bobby watch him talk with Randall. They only had one subject to talk about, but Bobby shouldn't be hearing it.

Ennis's voice was still growling and clenched when he hissed "What the fuck you want?"

Despite the growling, though, Randall seemed to uncoil a bit, looking plenty tired himself, like Ennis felt. "Just wanted ta tell you—I'm leaving town right after this. I went to the cemetery today. Saw your card."

That did not make Ennis any too happy, but in the silence that followed that sentence, Ennis moaned, "Yeah, and?"

"I just… I guess I think it was a pretty nice thing, del Mar. I… look I'm sorry 'bout the restaurant last night, but I been puttin' up with, well, with more'n I can handle. Meetin' you… look, I'll just speak plain. Jack never said anything about you, but I knew about you alright. I know you must not have wanted Jack, 'cause he sure as hell wanted you. Makes me mad to know he couldn't be mine. You had the best fuckin' thing in the world del Mar, and that is the love of Jack Twist. I wanted that more'n anything, and you _had_ it, but you didn't want it."

_You didn't want it_. The words were too familiar, and both stung deeply and seeped in slowly, like a cold, blowing rain. Ennis couldn't say anything to defend himself, and he didn't feel a need to defend himself to Randall regardless. Still, Randall's words rang mostly of comfort. They told Ennis what that piece of paper, _"the girls"_ still glowing in his mind like the hot embers of a fire, had told him. Finally, Ennis nodded.

He didn't think Randall took it in the way he meant it, though, 'cause Randall continued. "del Mar, can you imagine how it is ta be in love with someone that won't love you back?" Ennis had to shake his head 'no' to that question. He'd been loved back alright; His chief problem in life was that everyone kept on loving him long after they should have given up.

"You imagine how it is," Ennis noticed Randall's eyes flashing to the porch, and seeing something that satisfied him, he lowered his voice and continued, "every time he comes, he announces it to another man?" Ennis's cheeks hardened and flushed. Jack always announced it. _Oh__God, Ennis,_ and he added some euphemism 'bout weapons or alcohol or the Fourth of July. Apparently, this little manta of Jack's that had become second nature for Ennis to hear during sex, so much so that more than once he'd softened to the sounds of Alma or Cassie coming with nothing but sighs and whimpers, apparently this was not a punch Jack pulled with Randall. Ennis couldn't figure out how he felt about that, but he did turn back to the porch and make sure Bobby was nowhere in sight. It seemed Randall'd had that foresight. Ennis had to wonder if Jack called his name out of habit, or maybe it was spite. Maybe Jack imagined Ennis could hear him.

Randall sighed, smiled a tight smile that didn't get anywhere near his eyes. "Just thought you comin' to Texas and all is somethin' Jack would want. Thought maybe you need to hear it. I can't say I don't want to slug you for just existing, but I can't blame you for falling in love with him. That, my friend, is called hypocrisy. Your card was really nice, I think. I'm movin' on, finding myself somewhere and someone new I reckon, but I get the feeling you ain't doin' the same. I'll leave Jack to you, then. That's what he'd want, anyway."

Randall turned to leave, but spun around once more. "Can I ask you a question, del Mar?"

Ennis wondered if Randall called everyone by the last name, or was it simply that Randall couldn't summon Jack's coital mantra to his lips? He nodded, looking at the grass.

"How long you two together? I know you met before I knew Jack, but how much a head start you got on me?"

"Met in '63."

"No shit. You together since then?"

Ennis shook his head, but not to say 'no' so much as to shake unpleasant memories out of his skull. He added simply "tried ta be, only way I knew how."

Randall seemed puzzled but satisfied. He nodded, adding a sad, "well I guess I never did have much of a chance then," before he turned his long strides and disappeared back to the front yard from whence he came.

Ennis stood where he was a long time, not knowing what to think or do, not sure he could go in to Bobby and try to explain or not explain what had happened outside with Randall. He thought about Jack's cabin plans and the stuff Randall had said. Without hardly thinking about it, his feet led him to the unfinished shed. He picked up the rusty hammer to finish what Jack started.


	5. Chapter 5

Dislaimer: These characters don't belong to me. This chapter is dedicated to Sheera, who holds me to Bobby, and updates, as best as she can.

* * *

Ennis came in sweaty. Bobby was lying on the couch, a novel held at arm's length above his head. He raised his head to look at Ennis, but to his credit did not ask about Randall. Ennis had already decided he wouldn't tell him anything—not Bobby's business anyway. Instead Ennis simply said, "gonna take a shower." 

"Alright. I'll fix dinner whenever you want."

Ennis felt good rinsing away everything that happened so far in Texas. Not all of it had been bad, but most of it had been colored by hesitation, regret, and anger. The tawny dirt took the feelings with it down Jack's drain.

After dinner he put on another pair of jeans and an old shirt. He'd packed clothes for three days, including driving days. Too bad about his truck, though. He'd been too busy to worry about it until now, but the worry came back full force. The transmission needed a rebuild. It would take probably five hundred dollars. Ennis wasn't skilled enough in transmissions, even though his was manual, not like these new kinds of cars that could shift themselves like that truck Jack had. Either way, he didn't have five hundred dollars.

When he left the bathroom, he found Bobby starting some water boiling on the stove and putting out bowls. Without looking up from the water, Bobby called, "don't go too far. This stuff only takes a couple minutes." Taking the hint, Ennis poured himself a glass of tap water and sat at the dining room table with one of the bowls in front of him.

Sure to his word, not five minutes later Bobby was scooping out what looked like a hell of a lot of noodles floating in a yellow broth. At Ennis's what-the-shit-is-this look in the soup's direction, Bobby added, "I think it came from Japan."

Mostly they ate in silence for a while, Ennis begrudgingly admitting to himself that the soup was pretty tasty and a damn sight better than beans. Bobby's novel was next to him on the table. Eventually the silence grew heavy and awkward, and Ennis cleared his throat, and spoke softly, "That your book 'bout the desert island?"

"Huh? Oh—no. I figured maybe I could get another good grade if I got a head start on the next book, since it takes me a while to read it. My teacher agreed and gave this one to me a while ago. I just finished, actually."

"What's it about?"

"Uh, well, just boarding school again. This time it's high school and there's these two boys. They're real best friends, but one is better at sports and makin' friends and th'other is jealous, without really knowing it, and he pushes his best friend out of a tree." Bobby sighed, continuing, "Then the friend that pushed him feels guilty and starts to take over for the hurt boy—'cause he broke his leg—in sports and stuff. He sort of starts…" Bobby stopped mid sentence, something catching in his throat, and he continued, slower. "The boy that hurt his best friend takes over his best friend's life, sort of slowly, 'cause he's sorry. Eventually the hurt boy dies from his injury." Bobby gulped down a little bit of air and a little bit of soup, before adding, quietly, "guess that's like you and dad, huh?"

Ennis was taken aback, but a lot of Bobby's description of the book did fit. _I hurt Jack, pushed him out of a tree on accident, but not really on accident, then he dies and I don't got anythin' left ta do but try and pick his life up where he left it off. 'Cause I wasn't even livin' one._ All Ennis could make his voice say was "'n't that somethin'."

"I told you this teacher picks good books. It makes me want to read. I guess I didn't realize that books talk about things in real life too, but… I just wish I could go faster. I hate it 'cause the words are blurry 'n I lose my line, gotta start over, can't go fast. Other kids make fun of me sometime. I hate reading 'cause of that."

The description sounded oddly familiar to Ennis. But it couldn't be. Jack had always said Bobby had troubles reading. It couldn't have been something so simple all along and no one had taken the time to even notice it. Lureen didn't seem too involved in her son's life, and Jack had been too busy trying to corral Ennis to keep any kind of close eye on Bobby, probably.

Ennis was far-sighted. He had always been as far back as he could remember, though for sure it was getting worse. He hadn't been much of a reader either as a child, for various reasons, but it was frustrating when the words kept blurring in and out on you. Junior was bugging him about getting glasses going on three years now. Once she'd done a test for him with the newspaper. Well, there were some newspapers on the table.

"Bob, you wanna pass me a paper?"

Bobby complied without question.

Ennis held up the paper from where he was, a good three feet down the table. "Can you read the big headline?" Bobby nodded. "How about the small headline?" Bobby made a face. Ennis stood, walked a bit from the table, asked again, "small headline?" Bobby frowned a bit, but added, "yeah, I can see it better."

Ennis set the paper back down on the table, brushed his hands on his pants, re-tucked his shirt, and said, "gotta get your momma to take you to an eye doctor."

* * *

"Ma'am? Uh, Lureen?" 

"Yes Ennis? Oh, I am so sorry 'bout the mausoleum. I guess I forgot 'bout my work meetin'."

"No problem, went anyway."

"Alright."

"I think Bobby needs ta see the eye doctor?" He didn't mean it to come out as a question. Sometimes his voice just did that.

"I simply don't have time, Ennis. I'm sure whatever it is can wait, he doesn't seem like he needs a doctor to me."

That gave Ennis pause. She didn't seem to much care. "Whu… Well, I could take him."

"You don't need ta run my errands for me."

"Wouldn't mind takin' him."

"Well, alright, but them waitin' rooms, can sometimes be there three, four hours."

"Wouldn't mind takin' him."

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you." She went over to her purse, pulled out a few twenty dollar bills, more money than Ennis had ever had in his pocket in his life, and a small white health insurance card, handing them both to him. She added, "Call them in the morning. I bet they'll have a cancellation."

He thanked her, and slipped off to bed, but not without picking up the book Bobby was loaning him about those two boys.

* * *

Ennis shifted in the chair and glared at the clock like it was somehow to blame. They'd been sitting in these uncomfortable chairs for over an hour. Bobby was leafing through some new book, but it didn't really look like he'd gotten past page ten or so. Every few minutes the boy would heave a tremendous sigh, and not the content kind, either. 

Noticing that he was being watched, Bobby turned to Ennis. "'member how I said my teacher picks good books?"

Ennis nodded.

"Well I lied. This one's awful."

"What's it about?"

"I don't know! It's just, this awful family, and they've got all these daughters. It's just awful and so boring. And long—look how long it is. How can I ever finish this?" Bobby held the book up for Ennis to see the spine. Ennis could read the words there, _Pride and Prejudice_, and he had to agree it sounded pretty dull just from the title.

"Most of the girls are just so stupid. It's like that at school, too. Girls must reach some age when they ain't so stupid, right?" Bobby was looking into Ennis's eyes with so much questioning, but those eyes suddenly went pretty cold with a look Ennis knew. On Jack it was the "I want to say something but I know you won't take it well so I won't" look. Might have meant anything in Bobby's eyes, but his lips sure did open and close again. Bobby froze a bit, stiffly shifting his eyes back to his book. Ennis noticed the page didn't turn for quite a while, whatever the cause. Ennis had spent a lot of years seeing that look in Jack's eyes. Most times he was happy Jack had kept his mouth shut, knowing he wasn't going to like what came out. He'd have to ask Bobby later; he wasn't about to go making the same mistakes with Bobby he'd made so long with Jack.

"Hey Twist, pretendin' ta read again?" Ennis and Bobby looked up to see a boy Bobby's age jeering at him from the row of seats across from them in the waiting room. The boy was with a gruff-looking man, with a thick dark beard and beady, dark eyes. Ennis caught the man's gaze a second—saw something there he didn't like.

"Who's that, Twist? He your uncle or somethin?"

Bobby's face looked frozen in a mixture of horror and annoyance, his lips pressed tight. "Or somethin" he mumbled, but clearly loud enough that he mean to be heard.

The air seemed to fill with tense electricity. The man's eyes found Ennis's again, Bobby starring down the boy. For a moment Ennis wondered if they were going to have some sort of fight in the waiting room of the eye doctor, but sure as hell he wasn't going to look away from those beady, knowing eyes. The man's mouth scowled in disgust. He stood abruptly, grabbing his son by the arm. "Come on, Marcus, we can come back someday when the waitin' room's got decent folk." He pulled his son away.

Before they could even settle back into a discomfort, the receptionist called out "Bobby Twist?" and the waiting was over.

* * *

Junior'd been trying to get him to see an eye doctor for years, but Ennis wasn't interested in all that poking and prodding nonsense. It wasn't anything like he thought, though. Mostly the doctor made Bobby read a chart, then held some funny contraption up to his eyes and said "better or worse" a lot. Ennis thought he might just go if he could save up the money. 

The doctor was done now and writing a note. "So, are you Bobby's dad?"

Ennis squirmed in the seat, uncomfortable and not knowing what to say. Bobby opened his mouth to speak when the doctor handed a clip board to Ennis. "You didn't sign these insurance forms when you checked in."

He sure as hell hadn't signed them. They'd said 'parent or guardian' and he wasn't either.

"Mr. Twist," the doctor leaned on the last name, "you have to sign the forms so I can give Bobby his prescription."

Ennis took the clipboard. Hand tight against the pen, he found the line the doctor meant, and before he knew it, there was "John C. Twist" written in Ennis del Mar's poor penmanship and the world hadn't ended. When he found the next line, he decided he could do better, and signed "Jack Twist," making the T like he knew Jack did, and smiled with some satisfaction at the results.

The doctor was looking at him with a sad, knowing expression when Ennis handed back the clipboards, and Ennis wished he hadn't even brought Bobby in. First the man in the waiting room, now the doctor. Did he have 'queer for Jack Twist' written on his forehead or something? Or maybe it was all _in_ his head.

Forms in hand, the doctor opened the door and turned to Bobby to say, "Down the hall to the left is our eyeglasses selection. Pick out something you like." Bobby nodded and obediently turned down the hall. Ennis started to follow but the doctor put a firm hand on his arm.

"Here's Bobby's prescription. He's got pretty bad eyesight, and I want to thank you for bringing him in. I think he'll be much better off now." Ennis nodded, took the pink slip, and turned once again to go, but was stopped by the same firm hand. "Look, I wanna say… what happened to Jack was a real shame. I didn't know him personally, never really met him, but he was known to be a good man 'round here." The doctor's eyes were filled with candor, and Ennis liked what he was saying, too. "I wanna say I'm sorry 'bout that… I'm making some plans to move my office as well, someplace more, y'know, liberal." Ennis didn't miss the meaning in the doctor's eyes; the look was a mix of compassion and fear, both heartfelt, and Ennis understood him to be queer as well. Squeezing Ennis's arm one last time, the doctor simply said, "Anyway, I'm real sorry 'bout Jack, but thank you for keeping an eye out for his boy. Musta been real close." Before Ennis could respond, the doctor turned and walked towards the receptionist's desk. Ennis thought it was good the doctor hadn't waited for a response, because for himself, Ennis wasn't sure if he wanted to punch the doctor or hug him. Not being of the hugging persuasion, Ennis guessed it wouldn't have turned out too well for the doctor, nice fellow though he be.

In the eyeglasses section, Ennis found Bobby with two pairs of frames stacked on his head and third in front of his eyes. "Whaddya think?" he asked Ennis.

"I think you look like a fool," but Ennis couldn't hide his smile if he tried. Bobby's face broke out into all grins, and he plucked one of the pairs from his head, waved it, and said, "I like this one best." They all looked more or less identical to Ennis, who just nodded. The saleslady said they paid when the picked up, which was a good thing because the frames were more than half a month of child support, and more than Lureen'd given him. Ennis thought maybe he wouldn't be going to a doctor after all.

They left the doctor in silence, climbed into the truck in silence, and for a few awkward moments Ennis didn't start the engine. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, reminding himself that he was the adult between them, Ennis started. "Bobby, was there somethin' you was wanting to say ta me in the waiting room?" He found it wasn't so hard to ask what was on someone's mind as he'd thought all these years, and wondered how many regrets that stacked up to. Good thing he'd already lost count.

Bobby looked like he'd been called some kind of orange monster, but he found his voice, and said, "Uh, no, that's alright."

Apparently asking and getting were two different things. Ought to be something he knew by now. But he knew Jack, and he thought he might know Bobby, so he just sat there, didn't start the car. When the silence really began to bear weight, Bobby's mouth opened. The words came out quiet-like, and he just said, "forgot you was, y'know, that way'n all." Even more quietly he added, "I mean when I asked you 'bout girls. I forgot you didn' know nothin' 'bout it."

Ennis had to laugh at that. Arms folded over the steering wheel, leaning forward, he looked sideways at Bobby. "Bob Twist, I had me a wife, n' I got two daughters near-grown. I doubt you could ask me a thing 'bout girls I don't know."

"Really?" Bobby asked, with too much hunger and enthusiasm, as if Ennis had said he _could_ ask, rather than just shooting shit about it. It was evident to Ennis that no one had talked to this boy about girls. He reckoned that was a mother's job, and Bobby's didn't have the time. The air in the truck grew heavier with heat if that was possible. Ennis rolled down his window all the way, hanging his arm out, waiting for the onslaught.

"Well, like, what do girls like?"

"Uh, some like jewelry, and flowers and songs, and compliments, I guess."

"So there's this girl I like at school, Tammy, and how can I get her to like me back? Flowers and songs?" Bobby was making the same face every young teenage boy made at the mention of flowers and songs.

Ennis considered that for a moment, trying to thin back to meeting Alma at church. He remembered church suppers and church picnics and quiet Alma Beers standing near him. "Just be polite, I guess."

"Huh? What does that mean? I am polite."

"No real way to change whether someone likes you or not, Bob. That's their choice." Or not even that, really. No one's choice.

"So who I gotta be to make her like me?"

An alarm sounded somewhere in Ennis's brain, and with more force than he meant, pinning Bobby with his eyes, he said, "Don't you go pretending on her. Don't need her to go fallin' in love with someone as doesn't exist."

Bobby looked a little shocked at the sudden display of emotion, but shot back with his own venom. "I exist! I just got to change a little for her. That's compromise!"

"Anyone loves you, it's not a compromise they want."

"Mama and Daddy were always compromisin'."

"Didn' say nothing 'bout them." Ennis's voice rang with too much angry. He'd done a bit of compromising for Alma too, but not near enough to make amends. He thought about all the compromising and changing he hadn't done for Jack, and wondered if it was alright. He didn't think so, and figured something he'd said to Bobby didn't make perfect sense. The boy was frowning silently in the direction of the dash, puzzling through his own thoughts.

"Bob," Ennis started, "what I meant was, when someone loves you," the words didn't catch, not one bit, even said out loud to Bobby and Ennis wondered if maybe the world had already ended, "they do it for who you already are. Stuff's gonna hafta change with time, but it's no good startin' out bein' someone you're not used to bein', and don't know if you can keep up." There, he'd finally said, in his whole fucking life, one bit a words that made sense and said just exactly what he meant.

A stiff, chill wind blew through the car and took the heavy heat with it. Bobby puffed one lip out and looked at Ennis, arms folded across his chest. The silence was near-comfortable, until Bobby said, with some bitterness and mostly awe, "guess you'd know 'bout love."

Ennis wasn't going to back away from that one. He nodded once. "That's so."

A few more seconds ticked by. Ennis favored Bobby with an appraising look. "You think you're about ready to drive, is that right?"

"That's so," Bobby said, fighting a mischievous smile.

"Well, Mr. Twist, get 'round here and show me your best, but be gentle now, she doesn't shift higher'n second." Ennis slid out of the truck, holding the door open. Bobby looked like Ennis might have _given_ him the truck by the expression on his face.

"What's second?" Bobby asked.

Ennis heaved a sigh he hoped was big enough for Jack to hear from the afterlife, and slipped back into his old routine right in front of Bobby. "Your boy doesn't know shit about girls or trucks, Twist. What kinda monkey you raisin'?" Bobby smiled at that. Ennis smiled, too, hiding his face under his hat brim. But he had to think Jack'd taught his boy some of the most important parts, about respect and honesty, bravery and trust, all the things his father'd known best.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: The characters are Annie's and I profit none.

This chapter is dedicated to everyone on the DC slash thread for being so nice to an opinionated newcomer. There's only going to be one more chapter plus an epilogue (as far as I know… unless Ennis, Lureen, and Bobby have different plans). Clearly this chapter was written in record time. Yay!

* * *

"You want to tell me what happened?"

Silence.

"Bobby? You listenin'? You want to tell me what happened?"

"Uh, not really ma'am."

"Come on, why'd you punch out Marcus?"

Silence.

"You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"I'd sure rather not, ma'am."

"Alright. Well…" Rosie Cruise poked a finger into her high red curls, twined with grey from more than one troubled child. "You know I'm going to have to talk to your mama 'bout this."

"Yes, ma'am."

Rosie heaved a sigh. "Look, Bobby, we all know Marcus can be a little rough on boys he doesn't like. Now did Marcus say somethin' 'bout you? You know you can tell me."

"No, ma'am."

"Did he say somethin' bad 'bout your daddy?"

"No, ma'am."

"Alright, well, when you want to tell me 'bout what he said, you feel free to do that."

"Alright."

Silence.

"How're things at home?"

"Fine."

"Come on, Bobby you aren't normally so silent. What's eatin' at you?"

"It's just. Well, you know how we talked about gay people and how they wasn't too different? Marcus… well he… I mean, gay people do some disgustin' things. That don't make them disgustin'?"

"Bobby, I thought we talked about how what's bad to one person's not to another? Remember that?"

"Yes, ma'am, but, well I guess I didn't know what we were talkin' about. Marcus sorta made it clear to me."

Rosie's mouth made an "o" and she folded her hands in her lap. She didn't want to think about it, and she hadn't ever intended for Bobby to think about it, but it seemed Marcus Jackson had some different ideas.

"He said them bad things 'bout a friend a mine."

"Bobby? You got a gay friend?"

"Well, uh," Bobby was playing with his shirt sleeve. "I mean Ennis. Daddy's friend."

"Your daddy's friend? The one from Wyoming?"

"Yeah. I mean, yes, ma'am."

"You met him?"

"He's stayin' with us right now."

"Stayin'? At your house?"

"Marcus saw us at the eye doctor."

"So the bad things Marcus said were about Ennis?"

Bobby nodded. "I really like Ennis. I didn't want to think those things about him. I mean I didn't want to think that he's—like that. I mean, I know he is, but I guess I didn't know what it involved, or somethin', 'cause Marcus told me what he'd been doin'" Bobby's words cut off abruptly.

"Bobby? Do you want to tell me what Marcus said?"

"No, ma'am, words not fit for a lady, and I'm sorry that the girls in my class had ta hear it too," he said with genuine regret in his voice.

"Well, Bobby, in that case, they aren't fit for a young man, either, and I'm sorry _you_ had to hear it." Rosie genuinely was. She thought they'd been coming to terms with Bobby's dad's being gay, but this set them ten steps backward, it seemed to her, and had given Bobby some images he didn't need or want.

Bobby nodded, and the silence stretched between them for a minute.

"You want to tell me about your new friend?"

"My new friend? You mean Ennis?"

"Yeah. You said you were friends."

"That's so," Bobby replied, laughing at his own joke. He added, "that's what Ennis says sometimes."

"Well, if you like him, why do you care what Marcus thinks?" Or what he might've done with your daddy.

Bobby nodded again. "Guess you're right. I do like him."

They'd done this same thing before with Jack, after his death. Why would Bobby care what other people think about Jack when he loved his daddy? Rosie'd had Bobby list all the things he loved about Jack. Anything she could do to bring the good memories back to this poor boy had been worth it. To Rosie's surprise, more than one story about a ranch hand from Wyoming had been in the catalogue of good memories this boy'd had about his father. For that reason alone, she had a sort of soft place for this Ennis she'd never met, and she could imagine Bobby felt no differently about that. Ennis was like the best memories of Jack, spilled over to Bobby.

"So what is it you like about him?"

"I don't know… he listens to me, I guess. He taught me about driving. Yesterday, he let me drive his truck. It's broken, but it was good enough. It was a manual shift, so mostly I stalled out a lot, but he was really patient, even poked fun. People—I think Mama thinks he's boring or maybe stupid, but he's not. He's smart and funny and nice. When I first met him I thought maybe he had some bad intentions for comin' here, but I think he just doesn't have any reasons for bein' anywhere else, maybe. He just doesn't seem ta have any friends. I guess outside of me. Which is how come I know him and he's real nice, but very private. He was married and he has two daughters. He likes horses and is as far-sighted as I am. More I guess. He doesn't like new things too much."

Rosie sat there for a minute in the silence that followed, before Bobby said, quietly, "I really wish I'd known him before. I really would have liked to know him and my daddy together. I can see… I can see how my daddy might have liked him a lot. Loved him I guess. I can see that. I bet my daddy smiled a lot around him, like I remember him doing when I was little."

Bobby thrust his shoulders up and back down again—a mighty shrug. "I just didn't think about what it meant that Ennis and my daddy were _in_ love or whatever until Marcus…"

"Bobby?" Rosie leaned forward in her chair. "Listen up. What Marcus said, it was about sex?"

Pale and tight-lipped, Bobby nodded.

"There's a reason sex is private. You wouldn't be any happier hearin' 'bout sex between a man and a woman. It isn't our business, you hear? And the Ennis you knew yesterday is the same as the Ennis you know now, nothin' changed."

"Yes, ma'am." Bobby was looking too pale for his own good.

"But no matter what people go sayin' in school, you have got to learn to control that temper. I knew your grand-daddy, and I know that is old L.D.'s temper. I have used so many excuses not to get you in trouble. This is the last time. Bobby? You're a very level-headed young man. You're smart and you have self control. You need to learn to use it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"That doesn't mean I don't have to talk to your mother about this."

Bobby shrugged. "She doesn't care."

"Well, I am sorry to hear that." Rosie knew it was the truth. Last time she'd called Lureen about Bobby's getting into a fight, she'd said, "Boys, what can ya do?" like it was alright. The school system didn't much agree on that policy. Rosie figured as long as Bobby was winning those fights, it was easy for Lureen to turn a blind eye. She had to call all the same.

Rosie stood, smiling at the handsome young man before her. "I care. I don't like havin' to be called out of my office to come over to your school and have an emergency meetin'. No more a these, Bobby."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And no more of that, either. Call me Ms. Rosie already." It wouldn't hold; she'd told him four or five times already. Holding the door open for Bobby and leaving the room herself, she turned to the principal where he sat in a chair outside his own office. Thomas Albright was a short, heavyset, balding man with a quick smile and a kind heart. "Thomas, you mind if I use your office for a phone call? I got to call Bobby's family."

Thomas nodded, "Feel free, Rosie. I do have one favor to ask, though?"

"Anything."

"Have coffee with me after school today?"

A smile blossomed across Rosie's face before she ducked back into his office.

She knew she should call Lureen at work. It wasn't even two in the afternoon according to the desk clock, and Lureen would be at work for sure. She had Lureen's number there, too. But she had the home number, and she could guess where Ennis was. Curiosity had always been a vice of hers. She picked up the phone and dialed the Twist residence.

* * *

Ennis was inside eating a late lunch after he'd spent most of the day on the shed, and a little bit poking around his truck just to make sure the problem was nothing he could fix. He'd also run some of his clothes through the wash. Since that hadn't filled the machine up, he'd put some of Bobby's in there with his, sure he would ruin Lureen's if he tried those. He was holding a ham and cheese sandwich up to his mouth, _A Pictorial Guide of Western History_ opened up to the coaster page waiting to be read, when the phone began to ring. 

No intention to answer it, it rang seven times, and the voice recorder began to take a message.

"Hello, uh, Mrs. Twist, this is Rosie Cruise. Bobby got in some trouble at school today…"

Ennis moved towards the kitchen phone.

"He got in a fight with another boy…"

_Marcus_, Ennis thought, swallowing sandwich, air, and panic with one gulp. His hand was moving the receiver before he could notice. "Uh, hello?"

"Hello? Oh… uh, is Mrs. Twist there?"

"No, I'm sorry… she's at work."

"Who is—is this Ennis?"

How did she know his name? Had to be Bobby. "Uh, yes, ma'am."

"Oh, good. Bobby was in a fight at school. I'm required to notify his, uh, parents, so could you tell his mother?"

"Sure thing… He alright?"

"Oh yes, he's fine. Bobby's got a knack for winnin' these things. If that weren't the case I doubt he'd be in so many."

"He start it?"

"He threw the first punch, but not the first jab."

Ennis caught her meaning. "Uh, alright, I'll tell 'er."

"Thank you."

Ennis went to hang up, but the voice continued on, "Oh, and, uh, Ennis? I just think you ought a know Bobby really likes you. He probably wouldn't tell you himself."

"Uh, right…. thanks." Ennis hung up, wiping his receiver hand on his shirt like it'd been contaminated. Who the hell was that and why was she saying things like that? Besides, he didn't need any stranger to tell him what a Twist thought about him. Even John Twist's cold eyes had been more than a little transparent, and Ennis, it seemed, knew most of those expressions anyway.

* * *

When Bobby came home, Ennis was waiting in the kitchen, the book about the boarding school boys held at arms length and a lot thicker on its right side than its left. He looked up at Bobby as he came in from school. 

"Better change out a your school clothes. We got a lot to do."

Bobby stopped, looking tired through-and-through. A cloud of uncomfortable hung in the air, and Bobby said, "we do?"

"Yup. Git goin' now."

After Bobby changed, Ennis wordlessly led him to the backyard, right over to the shed. He leaned over to pick up Jack's hammer.

"You got in a fight at school?"

Bobby stared him a look that he didn't know how to interpret at all, wondered if maybe he did need this Rosie woman, and asked "How did you know?"

Ennis shrugged. "That Marcus fella from the doctor's?"

Bobby nodded.

"He say somethin' 'bout you?"

"Nope."

"'Bout me, then?"

Bobby nodded. Ennis nodded. Silence hung around for a moment, and Ennis said, "You feel the need to beat somethin', you beat a nail," and he handed Bobby the hammer. One thing Ennis had learned is it didn't ever do any good to beat on another human being. Some men had thought beating on Jack would solve their problems, but it hadn't, because there were still queers in the world. Instead it had only made problems for other people. For him. "I been finishin' this shit shed for days, but it isn't my shed? Was you jus' plannin' on lettin' it sit here forever?"

Bobby didn't seem to know what to say to that, so he just shrugged.

"Well, it's your business to finish Jack's work, Bob. Not mine."

* * *

Lureen got home a little earlier this evening, wanting to make dinner for the three of them to eat together. Arriving home at 5:47 by the kitchen clock, she set the paper bag of groceries on the counter. The men weren't anywhere around, but a quick glance out the back showed her they were working on that shed, together. Lureen was awfully grateful to have someone to finish it for her; thought she would have hired someone eventually. Ennis was pointing to something on the roof for Bobby. 

Back in the kitchen, she was unpacking the grocery bag with the baked ham dinner she was planning, when she noticed there was a message on the answering machine. Starting a pot of water for homemade macaroni and cheese, she leaned a pretty pink nail over to press "play."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: These character's don'e belong to me. I make no money. Annie Proulx thought them up.

There is one epilogue after this, then that's all she wrote.

* * *

"_Hello, uh, Mrs. Twist, this is Rosie Cruise. Bobby got in some trouble at school today…He got in a fight with another boy…"_

"_Uh, hello?"_

"_Hello? Oh… uh, is Mrs. Twist there?"_

"_No, I'm sorry… she's at work."_

"_Who is—is this Ennis?"_

"_Uh, yes, ma'am."_

"_Oh, good. Bobby was in a fight at school. I'm required to notify his, uh, parents, so could you tell his mother?"_

"_Sure thing… He alright?"_

"_Oh yes, he's fine. Bobby's got a knack for winnin' these things. If that weren't the case I doubt he'd be in so many."_

"_He start it?"_

"_He threw the first punch, but not the first jab."_

"_Uh, alright, I'll tell 'er."_

"_Thank you. Oh, and, uh, Ennis? I just think you ought a know Bobby really likes you. He probably wouldn't tell you himself."_

"_Uh, right…. Thanks."_

The water wasn't boiling yet. Not anywhere near. Her quiet hands flew to the fridge door, drawing out the tonic before she could stop them, Seagram's next, a little Grenadine. Lureen didn't like drinking; it reminded her of Jack at his worst. But in this household where alcohol was some sort of cure-all drug, Lureen was not immune to its lure.

Some things were plain to her. She loved Bobby. She wanted anything for him that was for his best. She wanted the newest records, the warmest jackets. She'd been saving up to buy him a flashy new truck for when he got his license, make him popular again. And all the work she did to make his life as pleasant as she could—none of it mattered to him at all. Ennis hadn't been here more than a couple days. All he'd given Bobby was Jack's mucked-up half shed.

Lureen scurried to the bedroom, feeling a lump of some sort build in her throat and not having a clue what to do about such things. She usually tried to strangle them in a pillow.

As soon as she was buried in the beige flowered comforter, which comforted her little and really just made her want to check on the macaroni water, she got to thinking on all the things she never gave Bobby. She hadn't known that there'd been much, really, she couldn't have gotten him.

The morning after Jack's death, she'd found the boy sitting in her hallway, curled in on himself. It wasn't her hallway he'd wanted to be sitting in. She knew that. She wondered why he hadn't knocked or something, but she hadn't really wondered, because the person he wanted to see didn't live in that room no more. Bobby'd been sitting in a different hallway altogether—Jack's hallway.

She knew his favorite TV shows. She knew his favorite musicians. She knew the name of his math teacher was Mrs. Rodriguez. She knew he didn't like chocolate milk. But Lureen was suddenly realizing she didn't have a clue who Bobby was. To her, maybe he was just an accumulation of facts—likes and dislikes, memories and ideas. If there was a soul in there she didn't know half as much about it as she'd known about Jack's, and that hadn't been much.

She was shaking. She didn't know what to do about that. She went to the bathroom to fix her make-up. She ran a coral-colored pick through her hair. She walked with a purpose from the bedroom to check on the macaroni water. On her way she stopped at the glass door on the back of the house. She watched Bobby talking easily with Ennis. "You know how to use a 'lectric saw?" Ennis yelled over the buzzing sound. Bobby was laughing, talking too quiet for her to hear—talking with smiles like she'd never noticed. Whether he'd had them before or not, she couldn't say.

For once in her life she knew what was right for Bobby's soul, and she wasn't going to let that opportunity slip by on her account. Her account didn't have a column for Bobby anyway, just for his presents.

* * *

Bobby'd gone off to his room to do his biology homework. Ennis was washing the dishes, a meager attempt to pay back Lureen for the hospitality he'd overstayed, she thought. Lureen turned from wiping off the table.

"Ennis, can I talk to you a minute?"

"Uh, ma'am…. Ought to thank you for dinner. Was some mighty fine cookin'. Ain't ate like that since my divorce." His voice trailed off. He tucked his shirt with his wet hands.

Lureen fished a cigarette from her purse, lit it, and offered the pack to Ennis.

"No, ma'am."

Lureen shrugged, inhaling too deeply, her eyes watering, and gestured for Ennis to follow her out the front door.

She walked around the side of the house, straight to the garage. She hefted the garage door with one motion, feeling good to stretch and use her muscles after a day in the office. In the first stall was Jack's shiny navy blue truck. Bobby'd been hoping for it, but she'd planned on buying Bobby an even newer model.

"Bobby told me 'bout your truck."

Ennis reeled a little at that, and Lureen took Ennis as the sort that didn't take to favors too well. She was awfully good at reading people when she needed to be. Didn't never listen to their words though. Trust the man, not his mouth.

"Well, Jack'd want you to have this, so it's all yours."

"Uhh, Bobby said…. Bobby told me he was wantin' it."

"That boy hasn't got a clue what he wants."

"He's not too bad a driver."

"Nope, but he'll need a newer truck."

Ennis paused long, shuffling his feet against the pavement. She got the distinct feeling he was trying to say something, but she was not the patient type. "You got somethin' ta say?"

"I, uh… ma'am, probably isn't my place to say? I don't think Bobby needs a newer truck."

"You think you know what Bobby needs?" She wasn't looking at him at all, instead finding something in the grill of Jack's truck terribly interesting. Her shoulders felt stiff. Her voice quavered to her own ears, making her cringe. She sucked in a trembling breath and turned to him, but not fully, and not with her eyes. "Reckon you're right. Somethin' else Jack'd want you to have." She felt her own eyes glaze over. Remembering her cigarette, she took a drag and turned back to the garage, not looking at the truck at all.

"Ma'am?" His voice was dripping with confusion. She wanted to bark at him or yell at him, or maybe cry at him, but she didn't know how to do those things, so she coughed.

"Bobby'd be better off with you." There, she'd said it, and hadn't died. She threw her cigarette onto the driveway, stomping on it with a designer boot. Her eyes flickered up as if watching the sky, water gathering around their edges, breath shaky, but she didn't break. She wouldn't break. She'd lost her daddy and lost her husband; son was a trifecta, she reckoned, and she'd be no worse for the wear. She'd probably already lost him years ago. Maybe she'd feel better when the evidence was gone.

"No, ma'am." His voice was firm and made her breath catch. "I ain't set up for that. Don't got more than one bed."

"I'd give you money for his keep. Maybe you could get a bigger place."

"No, ma'am. I don't got nothin', and I reckon I don't need nothin'… I ain't living no kinda life."

She didn't want to ask what he meant by that, but she already knew. She'd stood hip-to-hip with Jack in the same house for years and watched Jack live "no kinda life." It meant life lived looking to answers in a whiskey bottle, as alone as the full moon in the sky, but not near as bright. Not any kind of bright.

"Well, he…I mean, boy needs a father… figure."

"Child needs a mother."

"Oh, God, don't be silly. I have never been any kind a mother."

"Seem ta've done an alright job."

One of those damned whimpering sounds escaped her lips, like a choking rabbit, or a drowning kitten, and her mind flashed to her gin and tonic and her bed pillow. Instead, she nodded, frown etched on her face, and wiped away a flurry of silent tears she was ashamed to realize were coming from her own eyes. Not trusting her voice, she fished the keys from her pocket. She handed them over, careful not to touch this man—Jack's man. She didn't need that kind of touch, or any touch, to remind her she was alive and living. The burdens of life were crashing down around her, and she had just enough strength, just enough anger, to keep from running crying to her mamma like some of these porcelain-doll Texas women who'd done the same over less.

Tongue finding itself in her mouth at last, she forced out words. "Yeahup. She's, ah, it's yours. Your truck. Leave when you wanna." She spun on a booted heel and hightailed it back to the house to pour another gin and tonic.

* * *

Lureen left her bedroom around 7:30 am wearing her new denim skirt and blue blouse. Her towering blonde hair was perfectly set, and she'd repainted her nailed an eggshell color. Stepping out of the bedroom, her eyes fell on an unwelcome sight. Bobby was sitting in the hallway again.

Only this time he yawned sleepily at her before standing up, gesturing with a book in his hand. "Ennis left early this morning," he said over a second yawn.

That gave her pause. He hadn't said goodbye, nothing. She walked to the front window and looked out. Ennis's broken down truck was still parked in front of the house. He must have taken Jack's. Good. She'd been afraid he wouldn't accept the present, but Jack had bought that truck for Ennis, to make trips for Ennis, and it ought to be Ennis's.

Bobby met her at the front window. "Mom, did Ennis take Dad's truck?"

She nodded, "I gave it to him."

"Thought it was supposed to be mine."

"Why? You didn't buy it."

"I just thought…"

"You want a truck, Bobby?"

"Well, yeah! I wanted Dad's truck."

"Coulda got you a new one."

"But that was Dad's."

"Bobby, you can have any other damn thing a Jack's you want. Let Ennis have the goddamn truck." She secretly cursed herself for swearing, but Bobby wasn't a kid any more—and it hadn't stopped her when he was.

Bobby nodded. Lureen turned to him, dropping the curtain fully. "Look, Bobby, I'm sorry Ennis didn't want ta take you with him…"

"With him? What do you mean?"

"I mean, I tried… I thought…" she could see hurt written all over Bobby's face, and her strength sagged down a little bit. "You don't like this place, Bobby. Boy needs a father figure."

Hurt exploded in Bobby's blue eyes full out, and he began to sniffle. "You were trying to get rid of me!"

"Bobby, I wouldn't ever want that… I just figured you would be happier there."

"But this is my home!"

"Bobby, I'm sorry, I guess I didn't realize…"

"Didn't realize what? That my fucking father just died and my mother is trying to pass me off on relatives? Didn't realize that that would hurt, huh?" His face was turning red.

"Don't curse, Bobby. Oh God, I'm sorry." Suddenly Lureen felt it. She felt it all. The years of sleepless nights, knowing she was losing Jack, knowing she didn't understand Bobby, her father dying, Jack dying, Bobby curled up in the hallway, feeling angry at Jack, and angry at Randall, and angry at pretty much the whole world, and Ennis coming to Texas and becoming Bobby's best friend and then leaving too early in the morning, Bobby standing here yelling at her. She reckoned she never did right by anyone, and under the veil of one Ver-si-tile XM-480-sized hiccup, Lureen Twist burst into the pieces of twenty years of pent up tears.

What happened next was a blur even to her, as she frantically tried to inhale air, tried to wipe the tears away, didn't want Bobby to see her cry, didn't want to be crying, didn't want, don't want. Bobby gathered her up into arms that felt so warm and so like Jack's. "Hush, Mama, please don't' cry. I'm sorry for yellin'. Please don't cry, please don't cry." She could hear the fear in his voice. She never cried if she could help it, and never in front of Bobby. Never. He probably thought the world was ending.

He held her for longer than she wanted to admit she needed, but God she did. She hadn't been hugged like that since before Bobby could walk. She gripped him tightly and thought that she'd almost given this away. She'd tried to give away her own son. She'd done wrong by everyone, felt like.

"I gotta go to work," she croaked.

"Yeah." He let her go. "You gonna be alright, Mama?"

She hiccupped again and nodded. Smiling a little bit, she blew out air through her mouth, fishing for a tissue from the box on the coffee table. "Lookit me. I'm th'adult here. Should be takin' care of you."

"You do, Mama. Someone got ta take care of you, too." The concern in Bobby's eyes was thick as butter cream frosting and twice as sweet.

She shook her head, hiccupping again. "Got ta go Bobby." She ran quickly to the bathroom to fix her make-up. Bobby was standing with his hands in his pockets by the door when she turned to leave. She hesitated, did what she'd never done before, and kissed him on the cheek. She thought he might turn away like a good teenage boy, but it seemed they both needed a little of each other right now, so he leaned towards.

"I'm gonna come home early and we'll pick up those glasses today. Sound good?"

He nodded wordlessly.

* * *

Countless times she'd said she would come home early from work to do something with Bobby. He'd long ago stopped believing her. That afternoon he was oddly enough not the least bit surprised when she swept through the door at quarter to five, a full hour and a half early. "You gonna come with me ta get your new lenses, or I gotta run errands for ya like you're a boy?"

Bobby laughed and made his way into his mother's sedan.

"Mom," he started once they were under way.

"What's that?"

"What am I gonna do for a truck? You don't want me to drive Ennis's broken truck. Do you?"

"Not your truck."

"No, but you gave my truck away."

"Wasn't your truck, either, Bobby."

"No, but I don't have a truck then."

"Well I reckon that's your problem." She checked her mirrors and changed lanes.

"What's that mean?"

"You want a truck, it's your business to get one."

"Well, but I don't have any money!"

"Your problem."

"What am I supposed to do!"

"You ever think a gettin' a job like the rest of the world, Bobby?" She spared him a glance. "We got an opening for a receptionist job at Newsome."

"Receptionist?" He made a funny face. "That's a woman's job."

Her frown dug deep. "An' I suppose President of a farm machinery business is a man's job, but you still eat the food it puts on the table."

"I'm sorry, Mama, I didn't mean…"

"Might not a meant it but you sure said it."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mom. I'll take it. I want it, and I'll take it."

"Well, Bobby, I didn't offer it."

"But you said…"

"I said it was open. You're gonna have to apply like everyone else." Lureen still wasn't sure exactly about with Bobby needed, but she thought she knew know what Ennis meant when he'd said the boy didn't need a new truck. He was a good boy, and sweet, but spoiled. He needed a new attitude. Any truck would do.

Bobby heaved a sigh, perhaps detecting that, when driving hard bargains, he was no match for his mama.

"Mama, can we get a dog?" How did that boy change subjects so quickly?

She surprised even herself when she answered "We'll see," before parking the car.

* * *

Ennis parked Jack's truck next to his trailer, side by side for the world to see. Climbing out under the high waning moon, his old bones crackled and popped like Franny's favorite breakfast cereal. _Jack, I wasn't ever worth that kind a drive_, Ennis thought. He barely stumbled inside and onto his makeshift bed before his normal dreams took him. They were good ones tonight. Tomorrow would come the bad ones, probably. They tended to alternate. 

Ennis went to work in the morning. He'd taken off indefinitely, but the men were more than glad to see he hadn't meant long. It was odd how nothing had changed. He wondered if a part of himself had expected to find Jack alive in Texas; the post card was a big misunderstanding, or some trick perpetrated on him by the angry wife. He couldn't think of Lureen as "the angry wife" any more, though. She was a lady; distant, but strong. Ennis thought of Mr. and Mrs. Twist, thought of that worn down look on Mrs. Twist's face, and he thought that if anyone'd tried to hold down Bobby and pee on him, Lureen would have found a shotgun or kitchen knife. She wasn't a soft mother at all, but Jack had found a woman that sure wouldn't let anyone pee on her son. She had money, power, anything needed to make sure. Jack probably slept better at night knowing that. Ennis's days of sleeping better at night were long over, but Lureen was someone he was glad to have under Bobby's roof.

Nothing had changed but his truck, seemed to Ennis. But he knew inside something had, though he couldn't say what that was.


	8. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** Not my character's, they belong to Annie, I make no money, not off of them or from any other source, really.

This is the end! Thank you all for the wild ride. This is my first ever completed multi-chapter fic, and you were all very patient with me. Thank you all for reading it.

* * *

"Daddy!" Helen squealed and chased George around the table.

Bob Twist grabbed George _hard_ in one hand, gripping Helen in the other as she ran by. He leant over quietly and whispered a censure to the children, prying the pack of crayons from George's hand to return them to the waiting, sticky hand of Helen. She giggled and he shushed her there too.

He guided them by the shoulders into a room in the basement of a church. They'd gone to the funeral: Bob, Mara, George, and Helen, though Mara'd had to take Helen out halfway through when she got to crying. They'd stood by the side of the grave, George impatient and wiggling. Now there was a luncheon and they were filing into the church basement. Bob found his palms were sweating as he approached the tall, thin woman who was shaking hands by the door. He had no idea who this woman was, and she didn't know him or his troublesome kids.

"Daddy," shouted George, "who is Ennis?"

"Hush, George, use your inside voice," Mara whispered loudly enough to be heard three states over.

It was a question Bob and Mara had been dodging from both the kids, and they would continue dodging, no answer feeling right.

"Thank you for coming," the woman said. Her hair was light brown, but had highlights of red. A tall, blonde man next to her likewise echoed, "Nice to see you," like he knew them. Bob was through that gauntlet with the kids, and thought he was in the clear.

But he should have known better. He heard Mara behind him. "Oh, thank ya for having us, dear. Was Ennis your father? I wish I had met him. I've heard so much about him, and I hear he was a good man."

Bob turned to watch the disaster unfold in slow motion.

"Yes, Ennis was my father. My name is Alma, and this here's my husband, Kurt. Can I ask how you knew my father?"

"Oh, well, like I said," her Texas twang painfully obvious in this Wyoming crowd, "I never met him, but my husband, here, thought on him like family. Isn't that right, Bob? I wish I had known him."

"Uh, yeah." Bob tried to usher his wife along further, not sure this was the time or place to get into this.

Alma smiled at him. "Pleased to have you then, Bob."

Good, this was all going to blow over.

"My goodness, we ain't even introduced ourselves."

Helen was squirming furiously.

"My name's Mara, and this is my husband, Bob Twist, an' our kids, boy George, and girl Helen."

Bob knew what she knew when he saw Alma's grey eyes fly open. "Is that right?"

"Pleased ta meetcha, ma'am." Bob thrust out the hand that was holding George, and the four-year-old rocketed away.

Alma giggled. "Your kids sure are a handful, Bob. Do you mind if I call you Bob?"

"Not at all. Think I better go collect my son. Come on Mara, we're holding up the line."

"Pleased ta meet ya'!" Mara chirped.

"Wait," Alma gripped Bob's arm. "When you find your kid," she laughed again, "join us at that table over there. That blonde woman, that's my sister Fran."

"Oh well thank you, but I couldn't."

"Please do. It's the family table."

"I don't think I count as family, ma'am."

"Bob, you're the only members of Jack's family here, an' that makes you family. Don't you argue. It's my daddy's funeral, and I'm sure he insists."

Bob was about to argue again, even as Mara was thanking Alma, when a plate full of devilled eggs went flying through the air, a screeching George, blue eyes wild with tears and something else—excitement maybe, standing over it. Helen wiggled loose then and went running, long black hair like a wild horse's, and started throwing the spilled devilled eggs at her slightly older brother.

Mara was gasping in embarrassment, scrambling after. Bob sighed about as deeply as he could, muttering "found my kid," and started walking away, just as Alma caught his arm again.

"Bob, don't worry about it. If there was one thing I think my daddy would want at his funeral that he never thought he'd get, it'd be a couple a Twist kids having a food war."

Bob was about to protest that, thinking already of something about paying for some more devilled eggs for her, like he didn't know that someone had homemade them in their kitchen last night. He stopped mid thought, though, and smiled back at Alma. Her words rang of truth. There'd been a reason Bob had come all the way to this funeral. Someone had sent him a card. Someone had wanted him here, and had invited his family. He moved on and let her finish with the impatient line of folks offering regrets. Alma was still smiling. Maybe, like Bob, she wasn't offering regrets, but thanking God that Ennis's loneliness had been short. Alma and Bob: both secretly knowing that this was a celebration day for Ennis.

Mara was standing with the blonde-haired Fran trying to clean up the mess of eggs. The man Bob thought must be Fran's husband was holding the hands of Helen, George, and another little boy, all blonde curls. Bob wandered over to the table and let Fran introduce him to the family: her husband Henry, her son Jack.

Helen grabbed a handful of those golden curls, pulling with all her might, three-year-old blue eyes dancing at the five-year-old's scream of "owww."

"Aww, they're flirting," Fran laughed.

Jack looked less than happy to be the object of Helen's affection, but Helen was already turning to Bob. "Daddy, Jack has cooties! How come he doesn't talk? What's wrong with him?" Her voice was about a thousand decibels above "indoor voice".

"Cain't get a word in edgewise, Helen, 'round your screaming."

Helen turned back to Jack, eyes wide, and she yelled again. "My daddy was in the rodeo! And so was his daddy and his daddy. Was your daddy in the rodeo?"

Jack silently shook his head, blonde curls bouncing.

"Too bad," screeched Helen, "I'm gonna be in the rodeo someday on the horses like grandmamma." She grabbed another handful of curls for good measure and pulled.


End file.
